


Bird's The Word

by Tchalcons, velociraptorerin



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Fuck Endgame actually), (This barely acknowledges Thanos's existence), Blink and you miss it mention of dysphoria, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Redwing the Real Bird, Sam Wilson Can Talk to Birds, Sam Wilson deserves peace and happiness, This is mostly Pre-Relationship, Trans Sam Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 07:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20792618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tchalcons/pseuds/Tchalcons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/velociraptorerin/pseuds/velociraptorerin
Summary: After everything he'd gone through in the recent years, up to and including his death and resurrection, Sam was pretty sure he deserved a break. Instead, he comes back hearing voices he never could before, and with a new companion he never could have expected. He's always been good at rolling with the punches, but adjusting to his new wingman, while trying to figure out where he belongs in the world now, is something even he never could have prepared for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! I'm so happy to finally get this bad boy out for the SWBB-- It's been a concept I've wanted to explore since I saw Infinity War. Which may be why it's almost double the expected word count (oops?) because at some point I realized I was incapable of writing anything short. 
> 
> And more importantly I have been so incredibly lucky to work with the amazingly talented [Velociraptorerin ](https://velociraptorerin.tumblr.com//) / [mcl4r3n ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcl4r3n//)whose art I will never be over and who made my header as well. Go shower her with love and cry over her art like I did, trust me it will improve your day greatly.
> 
> (Also, for those who may be interested, Redwing is based off of a ferruginous hawk because they're incredibly beautiful birds)

Sam Wilson was losing his mind.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, really. For years, he’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for _ something _to break, on the heels of rebuilding his life after the Air Force, becoming a fugitive, and then a hero, and then a fugitive again. 

He’d traveled the world time and time again, had fought every kind of enemy, from robots, to Hydra, to _ aliens_. He’d met people that, by all means should have never existed, made friends that he had never even imagined were a possibility. He’d made a home from himself, a life among all of it where no normal person ever could have....and then he’d left it all behind when duty and his own morals had led him to.

He’d died. He’d been turned to dust by a genocidal alien and then, three weeks later he’d been brought back to life, in what he privately thought sounded like the most insane, terrifying plan. It had been cobbled together by a group of people who were so far beyond desperation that they’d been willing to try anything, no matter the cost. It should have never have worked, but then again, nothing about his life had made sense in years-- so that probably explained just why they’d succeeded against all odds. Because sometimes things could go in their favor, even when it seemed impossible.

And since the moment he’d opened his eyes in the middle of Wakanda’s capital city, surrounded by so many others that had died with him, he’d realized that he hadn’t come back quite the same.

At first he’d attributed it to the excitement of the moment when he’d come back. Of course there were voice calling out in shock and awe and outright joy at the sight of the people that they’d once lost alive and whole again. Of course nobody had been able to shut up immediately following the incident, noise all around them. Of course his mind had been buzzing, his hands had shaken and it had taken every bit of strength he had to keep himself standing, let alone focused on what was going on around him.

Except it had continued on and off since it had begun. Voice sometimes clear as day, as though they were right next to him, unable to be blocked out no matter how Sam had tried to cover his ears, even when nobody near him was speaking, and there should have been no source at all for the noise. The rest of the time they were faded, like hearing someone over a phone with poor connection, or like they were trying to speak but the words were being carried away by the breeze. They were distant then, easier to bear, and easier to attempt to ignore, but undeniably present all the same

And half the problem was that it never made sense, garbled snippets of conversation about the wind and the weather, the return of food and resources and how they were supposed to readjust to life like this. Sometimes it was just a feeling, a sensation of exhilaration or frustration, overwhelming joy or pain with absolutely no context to place it.

Sam’s own quiet requests, on the rare occasion that he’d been left alone had been met with silence, as though they’d gone completely unheard. He’d asked his own reflection in the bathroom and paintings in the halls, all to no avail. He’d asked the empty air around him, the trees and buildings, and he’d gotten nothing in turn. The streets of Birnin Zana had never been quiet, in Sam’s experience since first seeking asylum in Wakanda. But they offered him no answer, and no solace from the voices that had been plaguing him.

Even now, though they were quieter, distant and a little fuzzy, like somebody had stuffed cotton in his ears, Sam could hear the low murmur of voices, even if he couldn’t make out the words. Evening had passed peacefully enough, but Sam had only been able to pick a little at his dinner, his appetite shot to hell. He’d blamed it on nerves, on the fact that he’d only been alive for thirty six hours again, and that every time he looked at Bucky, he remembered more clearly than ever how it had felt to die, the feeling of his body falling to pieces, fading away in the face of sheer terror. That if he looked at him too long, the feeling might consume him, might make him fade away to nothing all over again.

In the end, he’d needed to get away. They’d finished up for the night, and Bucky had headed to his hut on the outskirts of the city, near the River Tribe. Steve, it seemed, had struggled to look away from Sam, had looked like he couldn’t believe that Sam was here, that he’d come home, and it was overwhelming.

Sam had caved, he’d hugged him tight -and been hugged tight enough in turn that he thought he might have bruises on top of his bruises for it- and then he’d made his excuse. He just needed a walk, needed to make himself feel that he was really here, that all of this was real. He needed to convince himself that morning would come, that he wouldn’t fade to dust overnight. He needed a chance alone, a chance to process what had happened and what would come next.

If he was lucky he could quiet his mind while he was at it. All he needed was to distract himself, and a little fresh air, and a little run had never steered him wrong before.

Despite that, despite the fact that he’d learned the streets of Wakanda well in his time here, Sam took it slower than normal, took careful inventory of his body and the way that he moved. For the most part, he felt the same as he had the day they’d been dusted, his body bruised and aching, his wings broken because the alien cyborg had changed their deaths, but not what had taken him them away. He’d come back exhausted, reeling, with voices in his head, but otherwise he’d felt better than he had in years.

The thought of what had happened and why was enough to make his head hurt. The thought of waking up in a pile on the ground, his hands body shaking with the memory of turning to dust was enough to make his hands start shaking again, his breath coming a little faster, a harsh reminder of the reality that he’d lived through, that he’d died through, creeping up on him.

And the rushing in his ears was getting louder, more intense. It was enough that he missed the sound of movement in the air behind him, before something was blowing past him, cutting through the air fast enough that wind rushed against his face and he stumbled from the shock of it, tensing without thought, despite the fact that he had no wings, no weapons, not even a knife at his belt to defend himself with if it came down to it.

“What the-?”

It was a bird that had flown past him, close enough that its feathers had nearly brushed against his cheek. He had a moment to register white and gray feathers highlighted with reddish brown on it’s chest and wings, the sharp looking talons and the fact that for a bird, it was large.

His gaze stopped at the surprisingly intelligent look in its dark eyes, his thoughts momentarily grinding to a halt. For the first time since he’d come back to life his mind was totally silent, without any of the chatter he’d been subjected to. His attention fixated completely on the animal in front of him, who was watching him back just as intently focused on Sam with those piercing eyes, the awareness to them seeming human.

_ “You’re thinking too much, _ ” The words were crystal clear, unlike what he’d been plagued with all day, and they were enough to make is jaw drop in shock. _ “You’re going to give me a headache, and I’d like to go as long as possible before having to experience that.” _

“What the hell?” He didn’t think the bird’s words were out loud, it’s beak wasn’t moving at all, unlike the talking raccoon. But there was no way Sam was making this up, despite the temptation to pinch himself, to make sure this wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. “Please, please tell me you’re not an alien too.”

The sound it made might have been a laugh, or a bird’s equivalent to it. It was something he’d never heard before, but somehow Sam knew exactly what it meant. Somehow, there was a bone deep understanding between them that he couldn’t comprehend, but that there was no denying. There was a innate knowledge of the bird’s emotions, his intent, a connection between them that kept him from panicking. _ “No, though it’s a little insulting you don’t recognize me, Sam. I know things have changed, but after so long? You don’t remember everything that we’ve been through? I was with you when we died.” _

He opened his mouth to speak, to protest that he’d been alone when he gone, but before he could get the words out something was shifting. Nothing around them moved, but the bird shifted, his gaze fixated, and for a moment, though he could still see the park around them, the memory of his death was clearer than it had been, no longer the distant memory it had been before.

He’d been floating through the darkness. He’d been calling for Steve, for Rhodes, for Bucky. Panic had been all consuming, had been overwhelming. And a voice had cut through the darkness. He wasn’t alone. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t be alone during it.

He hadn’t known what to think. He’d known it wasn’t Riley, it wasn’t his father, though he’d been gone for so long there was the fear Sam wouldn’t know his voice, in the same way he knew his father would never recognize him as he was now. That he'd never known Sam Wilson, and had never seen him as a man, or known what name to call out.

The voice had been so familiar, though, one that had helped to set him at ease in the face of all he’d endured with just a word. It had to be someone he’d known. It had stayed with him, soft and reassuring, the presence there, welcome and warm even as the words had faded away.

He hadn’t remembered it at all, upon waking. He still couldn’t remember if there had truly been an afterlife, when the dust had settled. But suddenly that moment was all he could think of.

“I died alone,” He protested quietly, stepping to the side, and then back slowly so that his back was against a tree. “I died alone, in the- in the Goddamn dirt, there was nobody there.”

_ “I’ve been with you since you got your wings back. You’ve known me for years.” _ There was a pause, and Sam realized he didn’t know if birds could clear their throats-- but it seemed like this one was very much trying to. That this one had picked up more than a few human behaviors. “ _ Just not like this. Not in this way. You came back different. So did I.” _

It took him a moment to register the words. Not since he got his wings, but since he got them back? Someone he’d known for years. And yet, after a moment entirely too long he’d pieced it together. “Redwing?”

As if in agreement, the bird ducked his head, preening the reddish brown feathers at his shoulders. _ “I don’t know how it happened either. My old…. Body. Is on your wings still. But when she brought you back-” _

“She brought back everything alive. And your body wasn’t, but I guess your mind kind of was?. Vision is an AI too, and she brought him back, so the same thing… Just happened?. So she just- She what, made you a real body?"

_ “The stones were capable of much more than that, weren’t they? You can’t be that shocked.” _

But he was. The temptation was there to sink to the ground, to bury his face in his hands, and pretend he wasn’t speaking to a damn bird, who was having an actual conversation with him. This was the intelligence behind the drone he’d been working with for years, who he’d joked about plenty, but had been a constant companion, even if it hadn’t been completely animate. He kept himself standing, if only barely just, struggling to wrap his head around anything. “The voices I’ve been hearing. Most of them aren’t you, are they?"

_ “I’ve been trying to shield you, to help you tune them out. To protect you. But I can speak to…. My kind, obviously.” _The hesitation, at least, was confirmation that Redwing understood the awkwardness as well. That putting the entire situation into words was beyond difficult when they were probably the first people to go through something like this. _ “So much has changed, but with how connected we are. It looks like that connection changed more than expected.” _

“I’m hearing birds. I’m talking to a falcon, and I’ve been listening to what? Pigeons and finches talking all day long? And all of this because an alien killed me and another brought me back to life? How, exactly is this always my life?"

Slowly he sank to the ground, unable to keep himself standing, and instead he drew his knees to his chest. His head tilted back against the tree as he breathed in slowly, gaze focused on the clear sky above him as he tried to wrap his head around everything. And then, something brushed his knee lightly, as Redwing settled, perching a little awkwardly against him. His talons were sharp, bright points of pressure against him, but the grip was barely there, it wasn’t painful, to have him there close. If anything the weight of him was reassuring, reminding Sam that he was real, that they were okay.

_ “I’m sorry. Trust me. I know it’s difficult to understand. Since we came back, I’ve wanted to apologize to you for it, I just didn't know how without making things worse. I don’t think there’s a way to fix it. But if I could, I don’t know that I would. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” _ Silence settled between them and Sam settled back against the tree as he leaned into him. _ “It’s going to be an adjustment. But you won’t be alone in it, as long as you’ll have me.” _

Carefully, half afraid that moving would ruin the moment, Sam reached up, his fingers petting carefully over the soft feathers of his companions back. “Yeah. That actually helps a lot, you know? I shouldn’t be shocked that something else popped up to throw me…To throw us,” He corrected, “For a loop so soon. But knowing I’m not the only one who’ll be going through it is a nice change of pace.”

_ “You’ll never be. Whatever comes next, Sam. We’ll handle it together. We both might have our limits. I’ll do my best but it might not be easy. But we’re stronger like this, than we ever will be alone.” _

* * *

Steve knew that something was up with him. Sam could see it in how he moved, in the way that his gaze lingered on Sam in their shared apartment at the edge of the city. There was no tension there, no outright fear that Sam could see, but a knowledge that something had changed all the same. An awareness that came only from how well they knew each other.

Sam didn’t want to call him out on it. Didn’t want to draw attention to it, or how his focus wanted to shift to the window for security and reassurance. Now that he knew what it was he’d been hearing, it was easier to tune into Redwing’s voice, into his very presence in the same way that he was getting just a little better at disregarding the birds throughout the city. The drawback was that it was rapidly becoming an ingrained behavior to seek him out now. And the truth was that Sam didn’t want to play this the wrong way.

It was hard enough, thinking of how he’d changed since he’d died. From what Steve had said, the plan had been to bring everybody back exactly as they’d been. To bring everyone and everything back with no changes at all. As far as Sam was concerned, the changes weren’t bad, now that he knew he wasn't losing his mind, and was learning how to shut out the voices of other birds unless he wanted to hear them. But there was no denying the weight to them. And it would likely make Steve spiral through the same thoughts that Sam had, the realization that more things could have changed, that they would never know about, that in trying to fix things, they might have irrevocably changed them. That their one chance to fix everything hadn't gone according to plan.

And Steve had been through so much. Sam wanted to protect him, as ridiculous as it might be. Maybe he didn’t need to, but they were more than just friends, they were partners. It was just a part of what he did. Steve would’ve done the same for him, if their roles were reversed.

But that didn’t make it easier to open his mouth and speak.

Somewhere above him, Redwing’s wings shuffled impatiently, and a part of Sam could feel the light breeze of the winds that Redwing coasted along with the rush of encouragement directed towards him. It was appreciated, in the same way Sam could appreciate the sensation of the early evening’s air against his skin, nothing physical but the sensation there all the same. There was nothing like this, now that he was open to it and accepting of it, the connection natural and as easy as breathing.

“-think?” Steve had been speaking, Sam realized belatedly. Saying something that Sam had missed in the moment he’d been caught up with Redwing. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.” There was no denying that his voice was a little distant, a little too far away, he could hear it the moment he opened his mouth. Steve raised a brow, a silent kind of confirmation that he’d caught onto Sam, that he hadn’t missed his hesitation, even if he didn't say anything about it. “I just- There’s something we gotta talk about.”

“You’re okay?” Two words, and concern was written all over his features and in his eyes, and Sam took the hand that Steve reached for him with, using his grip to pull himself up to standing. “What happened?”

He’d known Steve Rogers for years. They’d lived in each others pockets for six months, while looking for Bucky. They’d shared every secret they had in the time between their first meeting and Sam joining the Avengers. They’d stayed together, partners in every way that mattered even when the others were around, even when they’d found themselves fugitives yet again. They knew each others' pasts and secrets, the little things they hadn't told anybody else.

With T’Challa’s blessing, they’d gotten this small apartment in the Golden City together, separated only when Steve had been called to action by his own moral compass and inability to sit still and rest. Sam knew him as well as he knew himself, and he knew that it was the same for Steve, that even when they hadn't been working together as much, they hadn't kept anything truly secret. Until now.

“Nothing happened. Nothing’s wrong,” It was easiest to start with that, to offer up reassurance. “I’m okay, Steve. Just well- Let’s call it a change we gotta adjust to.” Steve stayed quiet, giving Sam a moment to collect himself without butting in. “I didn’t come back alone. I didn’t- I didn’t die alone, not in the way we all thought. I still don't know if it was a fluke, or if we should have expected it, because _Vision _counted, but uhh. When I was dusted, so was Redwing. And when I came back..."

Sam trailed off and Steve’s gaze left his face for the first time, looking towards the closet where they’d both been storing their gear, though Steve hadn't looked at the shield since Tony had given it back to him and Sam's wings weren't functional any longer.. “Redwing was with your wings though, wasn't he? I saw him with your gear."

“Kind of. The drone was there, at least. But his mind, the AI capabilities and everything else, they're not responsive." Sam shot up a brief apology to Redwing, unsure of how he'd feel about the words. "I know she meant to bring back just the living. But it’s like. Because his mind was alive, because there was intelligence there. She made a body for him. A pretty fitting one, all things considered.” There was the rustle of feathers, the quiet movement of a graceful landing, and Sam didn’t have to look to know Redwing was perched on the window sill behind them.

“Oh,” Steve sounded a little like he was in shock as his gaze moved past Sam, towards the bird, and Sam couldn’t blame him for it. “God damn. Seriously? You’re not just shitting with me, are you? This isn’t some elaborate prank? Something you worked out with Bucky, or Shuri, or something? That's not just an incredibly advanced drone?"

Sam opened his mouth to speak, and instead Redwing answered with a quiet cry, shaking his head once, before he took flight again. He landed easily on Sam’s shoulder, and he tried not to grimace because the bird wasn’t overly heavy, but the presence of his talons was something he couldn’t ignore and he hadn't managed to find any padding to help dull it yet. “He says no.” He paused, listening, “But he’s got ideas for pranks on Bucky, if you’re interested.”

“This is a little insane,” Steve told him quietly, “No offense, but it’s true. Even for us.” He looked to Redwing then, the crease between his brows something that would have been amusing, if Sam’s nerves weren’t as frazzled as they were. “It’s nice to… Meet you, I guess?”

_ “Tell him this doesn’t count as an introduction, because I’ve helped save his ass before. Now he’ll just have the two of us looking out for him a little differently.” _ Sam relayed the memo obediently, smirking as Steve’s jaw dropped a little, disbelief still on written all over his features, as well as an expression of awe that Sam didn’t think he’d ever get used to being directed at him. _ “Get used to it, Sam. We’re both pretty worth a little attention.” _

Sam shrugged, a half assed attempt to dislodge the bird, and Steve moved closer as he did, raising one hand carefully, “Do we know any details?” He asked, “I mean. Did she just. Could Nebula have made you your own species of falcon? That’s definitely something the stones were capable of.” 

Sam didn’t bother asking when this had become a ‘we’ kind of situation. It was just how he and Steve worked, no matter the situation. And it was nice, knowing that nothing had changed. That Steve would embrace their new teammate with ease, above all else. Instead, he just shrugged, moving to settle against the arm of the couch, “Man, it took me a little too long to figure out what was going on.” He’d save his pride the shame of admitting that he hadn’t figured anything out at all, that Redwing had needed to explain it to him “We’re just winging it, now.”

He cracked a grin at the joke and Steve drew away with a laugh, making his way away from Sam and Redwing then, and the duo exchanged a glance. “Horrible. That didn’t even take any effort. But that works. I guess we’ll have to start remodeling, though. Get a perch installed in here. Maybe a couple? And maybe we can figure out a way to make a…Bird… Door for the window. Do you think that's something we can do?"

Steve frowned, obviously trying to figure out the logistics of how something like that would work, and Sam used the moment to cut in. “You don’t have to do this, Steve,” He said quietly, reaching out. Steve met him halfway, and squeezed his hand without even looking, like he'd known that Sam would do it. “Nothing’s gotta change, you know. You know I ain’t gunna ask you to remodel for us, or anything.”

“Well yeah.” Steve shrugged as he looked at Sam, and there was no denying the fondness in his gaze as he took Sam in. “But he’s your partner, right? That means he’s mine, too. He’s part of our weird little family now. So I’m going to anyways. Because you guys deserve it, and because I want to.” Steve shrugged a little, nonchalant. "Better just get used to it now."

“Just two guys and a falcon,” Sam answered dryly, moving to settle back on the couch, as Steve moved across the living room, asking Redwing just where he wanted his perch as Redwing flew over to land near him instead, watching Steve almost smugly. “Guess we could do a hell of a lot worse than this.” He flashed Steve a grin as Redwing piped up from where he was, his amusement a tangible thing between them. “Redwing says it doesn’t sound too much like a sitcom, so we could probably do a lot worse.” 

Steve just rolled his eyes like that, his expression as fond as ever. “I’ve got you, Sam. Maybe it’s a little weird. But we've dealt with a hell of a lot worse. And I told you before." They'd told enough other the same things a hundred times, and Sam knew this would be no different. "It's gunna be a lot harder than this, to run me off."

* * *

_ "It’s too early for this. There are owls still awake, Sam. Nobody needs that. Why are you doing this to us?” _

“You didn’t have to come. I told you, you could stay at home with Steve.”

_ “And leave you to get into trouble without me?” _ The flap of his wings was far easier than the steady pounding of Sam’s feat against the pavement as Redwing coasted above him. _ “I’ll leave you alone for two hours, and you’ll end up picking up a cause, or picking a fight with somebody.” _

“I think that you’re mixing me up with Cap.” Though unlike Steve, Sam had woken up long before dawn, restless and needing to do _ something _before he did something he regretted to ease the feeling of being unsettled in his own skin. The solution had been to put on his running shoes and go out, Redwing grumbling complaints at him the entire time for supposedly dragging him out of bed -off of his perch?- before the sun was even up. “I’m perfectly well behaved.”

_ “You’re an adrenaline junkie that pretends he's incredibly well adjusted,” _ The words were so matter of fact that Sam nearly lost his footing as he laughed, regaining himself before he could actually hit the ground. _ “You’re just lucky I like you so much _.”

“Steve’s worse than me with literally everything,” There was something to be said about the fact that once upon a time, Redwing had been programmed to work with him perfectly, though now he’d developed likes and dislikes of his own, and a personality that was, at times, about as biting and sarcastic as Sam’s own. They fed off of each other like this now, and sometimes it still took Sam by surprise. "You should be giving him shit, not me."

_ “Don’t be rude _ . _ ” _ Sam rolled his eyes at the words, letting themselves lapse into an easy silence, pushing himself to move faster as Redwing soared above him. He wasn’t pushing himself to go as fast as he could, not by any means, but to go farther than he normally did, along one of the many paths that ventured into the nearby jungle, trusting Redwing to help keep him alert. It was easy, letting the world drift away from him, to get lost in the movement of his body, of the birds all around them and Redwing's familiar presence overhead. 

It was a feeling he was adjusting to, still, the moments when he was so intimately aware of their connection to each other. Their minds and bodies were separate, their emotions were their own. But the longer they spent like this, the longer they spoke to each other, the more Sam felt in tune with him. The connection between them felt easy and natural. And the more he embraced it the truer that it felt. Bit by bit he was getting used to speaking to him without words, seeing through his eyes and making full use of their connection, of finding just what their limits were.

Time passed easily, measured only in the movement of his body, and before Sam knew it the sun was rising in the sky. Bit by bit, the city was coming awake, and Sam made himself focus just a little more on the world at hand, on everything around him, the sounds of the city in the distance the things that only he could hear now.

Owls and the earliest of risers had been replaced with doves and finches and even from a distance Sam could pick up excited chatter, enough activity to catch his attention. Somebody was nearby, in a clearing not far from the building that Sam still could only describe as a palace, feeding them much to their collective delight.

Not somebody. T’Challa, the king of a nation was awake and outside and feeding the birds at dawn. He slowed to a stop gradually so that he could focus on what they saw, the king of Wakanda, looking exhausted, his brow pinched and eyes tired. He was dressed comfortably, but even from the eyes of the bird that had let him share his eyes temporarily, Sam could tell that he was tense.

Sam knew he shouldn’t’ve done it. He knew it would be smartest to make his way back to the apartment, to leave T’Challa to have his peace and a moment to himself. But part of Sam was so shocked by the fact that the king of the nation was out doing something like _ this _ when he should have had so much else to be doing, that he couldn’t stay away.

And maybe the part of him that knew he was having his own troubles with coming back to life was sympathetic. They both had their support systems, but that didn't mean T'Challa didn't mean more help, right?

He didn’t really think about it, just slowed his pace a little, still moving as he tried to connect more purposefully to the other birds. It wasn’t like being with Redwing, it wasn't quite as defined and their words weren't always as clear, but he could hear their voices, idle chatter and appreciation of the easy meal, the variety of seeds and other treats. Not a one of them seemed to focus on his pressing questions of how the man was doing, on if he’d been out there for a few minutes, or longer. None of that, Sam thought, could really tell him if he’d slept. But they told him excitedly that this was a habit, a recurring thing in the time since they'd come back.

_ “He’s a grown man, and a king,” _ Redwing offered as Sam kept walking, moving easily towards T’Challa, letting the voices of the birds around them be his guide. _ ”I don’t know that he needs us, to take care of him. Don't we have enough baggage of our own?” _

“Yeah, you can say that. Somebody else would probably say that about Cap. Hell. Plenty of people probably think that about me. You gunna believe them? Leave me to fend for myself when the going gets tough?” The mental silence said enough, and Sam let himself laugh, _"That's what I thought_." He shot back, the words nonverbal but plenty enough to get his point across judging by Redwing's mental huff as he took higher to the skies.

By the time they reached the king, the sun was beginning to rise properly, and Sam had just a moment to realize that Redwing was gone, tucked away in the trees above them. That he’d stayed back as Sam approached, though whether it was to keep from spooking T’Challa, or the birds around him, who might be concerned they’d serve as an early snack, Redwing didn't tell him.

“Your highness?” He’d never opted to use the title, not out of a lack of respect, not because of how they’d met, but because it had never felt necessary. But in that moment, he found he wanted to take things a little differently. A little slower. T’Challa had been through everything Sam had too, but while he’d been allowed to rest and recover, as far as he could tell T’Challa had stepped right in, and taken over as king once more. And it was a neutral way to begin, that would help him gauge things, a little, to see where the king was at mentally and the kind of mood he was in.

The words earned him a raised brow and a look around, as if he thought that there was somebody around them speaking, or maybe he was looking or someone else, if he didn’t think Sam had addressed him, even as Sam crossed his arms across his chest as he'd seen so many others do and bowed. The gesture earned a raised eyebrow, a small smile and a nod, and the king gestured for Sam to step forward as he spoke.

“I don’t know that you’ve ever called me that before,” His voice was quiet, considering as Sam stepped closer, the birds on the ground shifting with every step but not flying away as they might have before. He did his best to focus on them, to try and convey the thought that he wasn’t a threat, that he wasn’t going to hurt them, and he thought it might have even worked, as the busied themselves with the food scattered on the ground, evidently convinced that was much more important.

“Yeah, well. Maybe it’s a little too early for me to be creative. I promise, next time I’ll have a joke at the ready.” And he would have made a comment, would have called him another cat themed name, but Sam could only think of the lowest hanging fruit in that moment and none of them felt like nearly enough. “Besides. I uhh- Wasn’t exactly expecting to see you out here.”

T’Challa raised a brow at that as he looked up, dark eyes full of an emotion Sam couldn’t quite name in that moment. Knowledge, or understanding maybe, something close to it, at least. Suddenly, Sam was struck by the feeling that he wasn’t being that subtle, in checking in on him. Or maybe part of being the Black Panther, was being extra perceptive to things like this. Maybe he’d come back a little different as well, with a knowledge that Sam didn't know about.

“And I wasn’t expecting to see anyone out this early either.” T’Challa’s gaze dropped for a moment, taking in his appearance, and Sam felt a little self conscious in that moment, that he’d been dressed for running. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet…”

“Old habits die hard,” Sam offered up by way of explanation, waiting for a moment, taking a breath before he kept speaking, pushing just a little as he moved to sit on the bench, leaving enough space between them to be polite, to not push the boundaries too much. “Took up running years ago, when I needed to forget," He paused, gestured with one hand at his body, but knew that explaining the former desire to disconnect from his body was an entirely different conversation. "Turns out, I needed to clear my head this morning, too. It’s like it hasn’t...Stopped. Since everything. I can’t shut my mind off, you know?” 

The words came out a little strained, a little off, because Sam didn’t have any better way to put it. And because it was the truth, offered to a man he didn’t quite know well enough to warrant being vulnerable around. But T’Challa had offered them solace and asylum, a home, when nobody in their right mind should have. They’d fought together, they’d died in the same battle and were going through similar struggles, now. It was enough, no matter how they’d first met. Sam could afford to swallow his own pride, to offer that point of connection.

If T’Challa understood, Sam would be grateful to help, or be a listening ear if he could. And if he didn’t? Sam’s pride could withstand it.

“And does it help?” The question was quiet, unassuming. Sam looked over and saw T’Challa was very determinedly not looking at him, but the birds that were waiting for more treats from him, not nearly as nervous as they normally would have been and twittering excitedly at Sam to convince him to drop more. “To help stop you from thinking about it?”

“I don’t think that anything will stop it completely,” Sam shook his head a little, “I don’t remember much.” And still, he didn’t like to think about it, in part because of that. Because he couldn’t remember if there’d been an afterlife, if he’d been close to the others that had died in battle with him, when they’d gone. He couldn’t remember if he’d seen Riley, or if he’d found his parents, or if they’d recognized him after so long and so many changes, if they’d accepted all of who he was now. He couldn’t remember if there had been anything at all, or if it had just been the darkness, and Redwing’s voice filtering through his mind as he faded away. “But it helps.”

“It may be worth an attempt, then,” T’Challa scattered the last of the seed at their feet, watching as the birds scrambled to get the best of the feed. “I suspect I’d try anything once. I’ve never been busier, and yet...”

Sam caught his eye then, tried to offer a reassuring smile, an unspoken promise that he wouldn’t tell anyone that, that T’Challa’s own problems would be safe with him. “That why you’re out here, then? Can’t sleep?” He paused, listening for a moment to the chatter of the birds, “Cause if you ask me. They’re probably grateful that you’ve had a hard time of it. They might even complain a little, if you were to stop the early mornings.”

“I’ve always been an early riser, and a light sleeper.” Sam grimaced at the thought, certain he’d be just like Steve, functioning off entirely too little sleep for any regular human, at least. “But I’ve noticed a difference, you’re not wrong there. It’s worse now, and sleep is that much more difficult, to come by.” He paused, the barest breath of hesitation. “It helps, sometimes. Putting something positive back into the world, when the moments are difficult to handle. No matter how small it may be.”

“For whatever it's worth, it makes sense to me. Even the little things have to add up. And what’s little to you, might be that much more, to others.” He hesitated despite himself, if only because he didn’t want to push too far. And maybe he didn’t want to embarrass himself. “You know. If you wanted to, you could join me once in a while. I’m out here most days, there’s plenty of places to go, throughout the city. I wouldn’t mind adjusting my route, a little to head this way more often.”

He’d been expecting T’Challa to say no.To offer a polite reason why he couldn’t do it, or just that he didn’t want to. But instead,he was greeted by silence, and with a considering look. “I would warn you, that depending on the starting time, I may not be completely alone.”

“Yeah, well. I’d wanna be the last person to get a king in trouble, so trust me, I’ve got no problems about somebody else coming along, as long as they put in the work.” Sam paused for a beat, flashing a small smile. “And hey, don’t worry if you get a little ahead of me. I’m pretty used to Cap lapping me.”

“What’s the point of running together, if we don’t keep pace? I understand a race and well… Teasing. But that seems a little excessive.”

“Everything Steve Rogers does is a little excessive.” Those words were enough to make T’Challa laugh, if only a brief, quiet thing. It was still something that Sam appreciated, something that settled warmly in his chest, pleased to have gotten it and to hopefully have helped him relax a little. “The trick is to try not to understand it. I’m pretty good with rolling with the punches, nowadays.”

“Something I’ll have to keep in mind.” T’Challa’s smile was small, but very much present, his expression filled with a quiet, easy kind of warmth. It was the look of a man who wasn’t concerned with appearances, or titles, or anything else that Sam would have expected a king to worry over, all things that Sam himself didn't worry over. It was the look of camaraderie even in an unlikely spot- something Sam could more than appreciate. “And you’ll be able to...roll with it then, if I decide to get in touch, then? I'm certain I can think of something to make it worth your while. Breakfast, or something after, at the least.”

“Don’t you worry, Binx. I’m a man of my word. Besides. If I’m really lucky, I’ll get you to embarrass yourself a little, while we’re out. Trip you up, or something. You won't even have to take me out, if I can get that on camera to show Shuri.”

“Trust me. She has more than enough against me, without your assistance, there are plenty of other things you could do that are more worth your while.” His smile was still there, soft, open and easy, reassuring in the simplicity of it. “I'm sure that together we'll be able to think of something clever to entertain you with, if it comes down to it. Surely there has to be something you can't resist."

“I'll try to be creative. And I’m sure I’ll find something to impress you, too, if you give me enough time. I make it a habit to not disappoint. Especially when it comes to a guy like you."

“I suspect that you couldn’t, even if you weren’t trying, though in this regard I'd hardly say that I'm quite _that_ in need of special treatment.” T’Challa said quietly. The words were honest, unassuming, and Sam turned to look at him, only to find the king was watching him still, and their eyes met in the early morning light. It was a good look, he decided, T'Challa's face, full of warmth, hope, looking like he was anticipating the future, instead of dwelling on it. “But I look forward to seeing just what you can come up with, Sam Wilson. Knowing what I do of you, I'm sure it will be more than worth the wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins! Thanks for giving my fic a shot, as always feedback is always appreciated on here or over on my [tumblr!](http://tchalcons.tumblr.com))


	2. Chapter 2

There was something to be said for peace, and for normalcy. There was a certain kind of bliss that came from being in his small shared apartment with Steve, the knowledge that despite everything they’d been through and everything the world had thrown at them they’d built something real, and solid. They’d built something amazing, built on the battlefield and in fire, built on trust and respect Sam could hardly put to words, sometimes.

And even if it wasn’t the life that Sam had expected, even if it was something he never would have planned for himself, it was something to be savored. Even when the company was unexpected, it was more than welcome, no matter the situation that had led to it. He'd learned to live his life a little on the edge, to expect the unexpected and ride out the moments that sometimes, were just far enough out there that he could hardly fathom how they'd begun.

It wasn’t like Sam had ever pictured bringing Bucky Barnes into his life on top of everything else, not by any means. From their first meeting that wasn't in battle, they’d picked at each other, they’d given each other shit honestly at first, and then teasingly as they adjusted to the other's presence. But Bucky was rapidly becoming a second -or well, a third- best friend to him. Somebody who Sam could relax with, who he could let his guard down around, no matter how they’d started out, just on the merit of shared experiences. Which was why Sam was more than happy to find himself in the small hut that Bucky had claimed as his own at the edges of the city, sprawled out on the small couch he had, in favor of sitting up properly as a grown man should, or helping his friends get lunch ready.

Redwing was nearby, and even as Sam lounged there, listening to the idle chatter of his friends, he could feel Redwing’s focus alternating between what he could see through the window he was perched at and the company of their friends. His focus shifted, sharpened a little every time Bucky shot the hawk an uncertain look, and Sam tried not to read too much into it. Redwing liked that Bucky didn't know what to think of him, maybe a little too much, and he'd delighted in it, when Steve had mentioned his plan to visit.

It had been hard enough, convincing Bucky that Sam was actually able to talk to Redwing and that it wasn’t some kind of elaborate prank. That this was something Sam had come back with, something that had changed, and not something he’d hidden from Bucky the entire time that they’d known each other. That maybe they'd hidden plenty of things from each other in the past, that Bucky still didn't know all of Sam's secrets, but that he would have trusted him with this.

And when he’d finally believed them he’d had no problems settling in as Sam’s friend once more. But unlike Steve, he seemed to have a little more problem adjusting to Redwing in his life as well. And to his credit, Redwing seemed happy to make it harder on him, staring him down when he could, just watching the former soldier, and stretching out his wings just to show off the width of them. He insisted he was testing Bucky, when prompted, that he didn't want Sam taken by surprise if some changes were too much to handle.

Sam pushed himself up to sitting as Bucky approached, taking the plate of sandwiches offered to him without a word. Bucky dropped onto the couch next to Sam, made a face as Sam stretched out, though he didn’t offer a word of complaint as Sam’s feet settled in his lap easily,not quite as comfortable with a lack of boundaries between them like Steve was, but content enough to allow it for all of about thirty seconds before he was shoving at Sam in response, trying to do the same to him.

“How are you two grown men and still like this?” Steve settled on the recliner nearby. “I’ve seen ten year olds with better manners.”

“Well at ten you sure as hell didn’t have them,” Bucky countered without missing a beat, taking a bite of his lunch as he dropped messing with Sam, if only for the moment.. “And we’ve both still got better manners than you, so I wouldn't be talking too much, Rogers.”

And just like that, the two men dissolved into bickering, familiar in a way Sam did with his own siblings, and more than enough to make him laugh. He caught Redwing’s gaze across the room and even without their bond he knew they were on the exact same page with just long they'd be able to go at this. He and Bucky knew how to get at each other, but to be somebody's friend for as long as the two of them, was to have decades worth of ammo and the ability to hound each other for a few hours.

“Alright, alright okay. Can’t believe you’re talking shit about manners when you’re both acting like you’re five.” Sam interrupted, shortly before it looked like Steve might just throw something -albeit something light- at Bucky’s smirking face. “And you’re proving his point, you know that Buck? Let the man relax, so he can tell us what’s going on, would you?”

“What makes you think something’s going on?” Steve asked, obviously trying not to sound like he'd been caught, but not succeeding in the slightest. 

He and Bucky exchanged a look, a raised brow and Sam knew in that moment that they were both on the same page. That they could both smell a plan to try and bullshit his way out of something from Steve Rogers about a thousand miles away. He’d been the one to suggest they come to Bucky’s, and Sam knew fully well just how much it took to get him to leave the comforts of the city, to come out here instead. He wouldn’t have done it without good reason, and Sam knew part of it had to be in keeping Bucky at ease, for whatever he planned to bring up. He'd been shifty and unsettled in the apartment for the past few days, and Redwing had told him outright that it didn't improve much at all during the day-- except for when Sam had left for his shift at the hospital.

“You’re not subtle, man. You never have been,” Sam told him gently, trying to keep his voice reassuring. “Doesn’t help that we know you like we do.”

“The minute you said you wanted you guys to come out here, we both figured something was up.” Bucky agreed, “Figured it was rude, to tell you right away. And I wasn’t complaining about getting to be the one who waited around while you guys came out here, instead of me having to come to you, this time around."

“I need new friends, that don’t know that I know how to lie. You two make it too difficult for me.” 

“We wouldn’t be your friends, if we couldn’t read you like we can.” Steve shot Sam an unimpressed look at the words, “C’mon man. Spill.”

There was a moment of silence, a breath that seemed to stretch on as Steve steadied himself visibly, tension settling in his shoulders as he spoke. “I’ve been thinking about going back home. About the three of us, heading back to New York, again.”

“What the hell, Steve? Are you crazy?” Bucky’s reaction was about as startled as Sam felt by the words, more taken off guard by them than he'd ever admit to. But it was the edge of fear in his voice that had Sam reaching over across the couch to squeeze the warm metal of his arm. “I don’t know about you, but I like not being in jail.”

“I’m sure as hell never going back to the Raft again,” The memory alone was enough that Sam felt like he’d been submerged in ice water. Redwing didn’t fly over, but Sam could feel his concern, a warm thing against him, could feel his presence, the soothing affection that he wanted to offer. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t be in this alone, at least, and that was enough to keep his voice from rising, to keep it from shaking with the sudden weight of emotion that settled over him. “We can’t go back home, Cap. You know that.” 

“We’re not fugitives, anymore,” Steve pointed out, “And Tony and Nat came through with an offer, from the UN. It’s not a plea deal, not really. They’re not calling us guilty, Sam.” His gaze darted to Bucky for just a moment. “No jail time. No punishment.”

“No house arrest? No restrictions? You really think they’ll let all three of us head back, like nothing happened? LIke I didn't do what I did, and you're both totally innocent?” Bucky’s voice was tight, still. Not an accusation but close to it. Sam had a moment to realize that he’d thought about it more than Sam had, that he’d considered going home seriously, unlike Sam who hadn’t been able to think about it, without the desperation to see his family again clawing at him. Even now, Sam found he couldn’t quite think straight, through the racing of his heart, and the longing mixed with sheer panic. “They don’t have to put us anywhere, to have us right under their thumb.”

“But if we can go back, if we can do something good again, then shouldn’t we?” Steve was saying, and Sam knew without meeting his gaze that he was looking at Sam, hoping for back up. That Sam could be his voice of reason, that they could calm Bucky down together. But the thing was, that Sam found he couldn’t quite meet his gaze, that he looked past Steve instead, uncertain. “Don’t we deserve to pick up where we left off, like everyone else? Don't we deserve to live our lives and enjoy them, instead of hiding?"

Sam wanted to go home. Not to the compound, not to the Avengers but to Harlem. He wanted to go back home, to Sarah and Gideon and the kids. He wanted to see them again, to hold them and know for certain that they were okay. To prove that _ he _ was still okay, that he was still alive, and pretend that he was better than ever, despite everything.

He’d worked so hard,to build his life as Sam Wilson, to live his truth long before he'd ever become the Falcon. And more than anything, Sam found he wanted that normalcy back, even if he didn't think he'd ever be able to believe it could be an option again. He wanted something close to it, wanted to find a compromise between the life he'd built for himself and the one he'd wanted when he was young.

And yet.

He’d kept his voice calm in his protest, he hadn’t opened his mouth since, letting Bucky and Steve go back in forth instead. But the truth was, that what they’d been through haunted him. Sam had no qualms about the trouble that he and Steve had gotten up to since they’d met. The times they’d been on someone’s wrong side, whether it was someone who meant to do them harm, or the government itself. They’d been through battle after battle together, they’d gotten into more scraps than Sam could count, and had been arrested on more than one occasion.

But this had been different. This haunted him still, not just the memories of it, but who’d put him there. Who’d been in charge, and who was still there, potentially waiting and watching for them to slip up, to lock him away. He didn’t know that he could go back and be able to relax in good faith. That he wouldn’t be waiting for the next thing to happen, for the other shoe to drop and for everything to fall apart. 

And could home ever really feel like home again, knowing what had happened? What his own people had done to him, and what they might do if the opportunity arose? 

Would it be worth returning to the people he loved, to deal with all of that? Would they alone be enough to risk it, when so much of Sam’s heart demanded he stay far, far away from America, for as long as he could?

But what were his other options? To leave Wakanda behind, to settle somewhere else, anonymous and hope that he could make a life there? To leave behind the friend's he'd made in two countries, to leave behind the life that he’d built yet again, the connections that he’d made and hope for the best? 

On the other hand, would he be able to stay? Would T’Challa and his council let him, if he asked? He’d proven himself able enough to contribute here, to integrate with society as much as they would let him, willing to do what he could for Wakanda. He'd done his best to learn the language and held down a job the entire time he'd stayed here. Had it been enough to allow it?

Would it be what he wanted, in the long run? Or did it just feel like the safest of options, the best way to keep himself sane, with all that had happened? 

He couldn’t get the words out. Didn’t know how to say any of that out loud. And it took him a moment to realize that Steve and Bucky had fallen silent. That they were both watching him, their focus intent, laser sharp. Redwing was watching him too, and it was he who spoke first, bridging the silence between their minds

_ “Wherever you go I go too, Sam. Whatever happens next, I told you once. You won’t be alone in it.” _ A pause, _ “And there’s only one way to figure out if that’s even something worth worrying about.” _

_ “Yeah, I can see that now. Hey T’Challa, do you have room for one permanent refuge here? That conversation’s gonna go over great. Come on, Red, we have to be realistic here.” _Sam shot back, trying and failing not to focus on how Steve’s gaze grew just a little more worried with every moment that Sam didn’t say something to him, or how Bucky's hand felt as it settled against his leg, the touch comforting, even if Sam didn't quite feel connected to his body.

_ “You’ve proved your worth in America, and here, they would be more than lucky to have you." _ Redwing seemed to have no qualms about making sure that Sam’s focus stayed solely on him. _ “And you have nothing to prove. You have nothing to earn. Maybe he lets you stay, simply because you’re a good man, who deserves peace. He likes you. He counts you as a friend, even if you don’t think so. You don’t see how he watches you, when you’re together."_

_ “Yeah. And what’d I do to deserve having you in my head, huh?” _ Sam didn’t have to specify that it was a compliment. That Redwing was a comforting presence, soothing and familiar no matter how new this was. That the two of them were in this together, and that wherever this took them, Sam was grateful to have somebody else in his corner.

_ “I’ve got you too, Sam. What we have might be different than most. But we’re partners. That’s all you ever had to do.” _

He blinked twice to clear his vision, suddenly a little misty despite his best efforts not to.get too emotional. The problem really, was that Redwing was in his head. That he knew exactly what it was that Sam needed to hear. And there was no hiding just how much the words affected him, either.

“Sam?” It was Bucky who spoke, and Sam found that he was grateful that he didn’t let anything show in his eyes. That if he noticed the fact that Sam was overwhelmed, he didn’t say a word about it, even if he was squeezing Sam’s hand reassuringly. “We’re not used to you being this quiet, you know. Didn’t think you could go this long without giving an opinion.”

“Don’t be rude, Buck.” Steve cut in immediately, like he’d been waiting for an in, for something to say that wouldn’t be pushing too far. “We’ve been talking about a lot. Makes sense that he’d need-”

“I’m processing just fine, Cap. You’re worrying too much.” Sam offered him a tight smile in the face of his obvious worry, the barely there tension in his shoulders that he’d likely never admit to. They were cut from the same cloth, after all. Sam knew just how his brain worked.

“We’re not, though. You’re our friend. You’re you.” The words coming from Bucky were more appreciated than they might be from Steve, in part because he of who he was. Because he was the one who’d spent years running from them, who’d run to keep himself safe, and to keep himself from all of this. They hadn’t started out as friends. But in everything that had happened, they’d become them, they’d become a family, in their own way. And it helped more than Sam could say, knowing Bucky felt the same about him. “If something’s on your mind, you can tell us.”

Neither of them asked if Sam was okay, but he had the feeling that they didn’t have to, not really at least. That they both knew him well enough, and that the answer was obvious that he wasn’t-- not really. 

“I’ve just got a lot going on in my head, all of a sudden.” It wasn’t quite a lie, if not entirely the truth. Close enough that they’d be able to read that Sam’s answer wasn’t a yes, and it wasn’t a no. It was a ‘he needed to think about it’, he needed to wrap his head around it all. “Doesn’t help, that he does too.” Redwing rustled his wings at that, a clear denial that he had any part of it. “Is there a time limit, Cap? Do we really need an answer immediately?”

Something in Steve’s gaze softened, though Sam didn’t miss the edge of hurt in his gaze. The hint of something close to agony, or maybe outright loss. He hadn’t considered the possibility that Sam might not want to go home, he realized. They’d never talked about it. And Sam hadn’t tried to hide how much he missed his family, it only made sense to expect him to plan on going back with Steve, that the risk aside, Steve had been hoping for an easy yes from him.

“No, there’s no hurry at all. Not for you, Sam.” Steve’s voice was quiet, and Sam’s gaze dropped at the slightest tremor of his hand, an expression on his face that clearly said he wanted to reach for Sam, wanted to draw him away, to talk it out. And Sam knew if he let him, that he’d go home just like that. That loyalty to his friends, to his family and his home might just outweigh loyalty himself. “Just let me know. And if you need me-”

“I know where to find you. You’ve got my back,” Sam’s voice was just as quiet as Steve’s, his tone as soothing as he could make it, almost placating and half afraid of what Steve Rogers might just do on his own, without him there to keep him together. “I just need time, Steve. I’ll let you know, as soon as I get it all figured out. We’ll figure it out. I promise. And soon as I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

* * *

Despite his promises, and the awkward tension that now hung in Sam and Steve’s shared apartment, Sam found that he didn’t have his answer right away. Instead he spent three days thinking on it, debating on the pros and cons of staying or going during sleepless nights and his breaks at work. He wanted to approach this as he had every other big problem, or life change he had in the past. But nothing had ever been quite like this.

Steve was being good about it, at least, as patient as he could be and not pushing Sam or making him feel like he had to make a choice. Instead, he didn’t bring it up at all, dancing around it instead in a way that Sam felt every moment that they were together.

And then there was Redwing. His companion had been up front about it, that Sam had every right to choose whatever he wanted to do, and Redwing would go with him-- but that he wouldn’t make the choice. That was on Sam alone, or so he said.

Because Sam thought that by his insistence that he needed to find T’Challa, to find out if staying was even an option, that he’d made his decision. Redwing wouldn’t admit to it, he denied it at every turn, but it was difficult to hide anything when their minds were linked as they were. He knew Sam’s fears and agreed with them. He wanted Sam to talk to the king, to figure out if staying here was an option, or if they’d have to prepare for another type of change, instead.

Sam hadn’t admitted that he was right, exactly. What he’d done instead, was take to the city, with Redwing flying overhead. There was no guarantee that T’Challa would be easy to find, after all, but Sam had learned of at least some of the places that he liked to frequent that were nearby. 

He’d checked the bookshops and stores that T'Challa had mentioned to him on the mornings they'd spent together. He'd tried the food stands that he'd mentioned to Sam, and the few that they'd visited on his trips to the city and after their runs. He’d tried the quiet places along the outskirts of the city that he knew, the museums he'd made comments about enjoying and had found no trace of the king.

And what it all meant, was that Sam had no idea where he was. He knew he should try the palace, next. That it’d be the most likely place, and if he was wrong, that maybe Shuri, or one of the others could help him find T’Challa. But the truth was, Sam didn’t want them to know he was looking for T’Challa. He didn’t want anyone to consider asking why he was looking for him, either.

This was something he wanted the element of surprise with. This was something he needed to do relatively on his own. But that didn't mean he couldn't have a little help. So he tilted his head up towards the sun and let himself focus not on the sounds of the city around him, but on the voices that only he could hear.

Wakanda was full of birds, after all, and it took effort, it took focus, but Sam let himself reach out to them, letting Redwing's presence in his mind be the one thing that grounded him. The birds knew T'Challa from early mornings spent with some of them, from his ventures in the jungles of Wakanda and his time spent with the other tribes in the nation. They knew his face and his voice, even if they didn't know his importance.

And at his request, they set out looking for him, their chatter a low murmur in his mind, welcome and reassuring as they took flight. All Sam had to do was wait and listen.

Then they found him. A pair of doves had found T'Challa on what T'Challa could only call cliffs, looking out over the hills, surrounded by long grass, just sitting there. Sam could see him through the birds' eyes, his eyes closed, his expression peaceful and and face tilted up towards the sun, as though he was just a man who was at peace, and nothing more.

Sam found he felt more than a little bad about the potential of ruining his afternoon. But he didn't want to wait, and more importantly didn't think that his nerves would hold up if he waited too long. 

So instead, he made himself swallow his pride, and commited the location to memory. The doves promised to stick around, to tell him if T'Challa moved, and Sam thanked them, thanked all of the others that had been so willing to help him. And then he went to find transport, well aware that nothing was going to take him all the way to T'Challa, but that there were ways to get close, before he had to walk the rest of the way.

It was a journey, but one that Redwing kept him distracted during, his presence reassuring and welcome as he offered commentary on the city around them, the journey to the outskirts of the nation. It was late afternoon by the time that Sam finally reached the king and Sam found he couldn't calm the rapid racing of his heart, or ease his nerves at all.

“T’Challa.” His voice carried well across the open field as Sam stepped out from the trees he’d approached through. He sent a quiet thanks to the pair of birds who’d helped them find the king, smiling a little as one fluttered closer to him before they were both taking to the air in earnest. These ones, at least, didn’t seem quite as afraid of Redwing, as he circled overhead and Sam wondered if that had something to do with his connection to Redwing now.

He had a moment to realize they hadn’t talked about this. About T’Challa meeting Redwing, about the fact that the king had no idea that Sam had powers now. And then T’Challa was standing from where he’d been seated in the long grass, obviously more than surprised by Sam’s intrusion than aware of Redwing's presence, or anything else.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” He began, because it was true and he didn’t want this starting off on the wrong foot. “I know I probably should’ve, y’know. Tried to get a hold of you first, I guess, but I think if I would’ve done that, I probably would’ve backed down in the time it took to get an answer, and that's really not what I'm after right now.”

_ “You’re rambling,” _ Redwing interjected, cutting Sam off as he dropped low in the air, settling lightly down on a tree nearby, low enough in the branches that he'd be seen easily, and making no attempt to look like a normal falcon._“Tell the man what’s been going on_.”

“Are you alright?” He’d moved closer as Redwing scolded him, and Sam found himself offering the king a small smile, trying to reassure him despite his own nerves and news. “I don’t mind the interruption, but I also don’t know what’s wrong, Sam. Or why you would come all this way to find me, when I know how difficult it is." The king paused for a few long moments, "How did you know how to find me, exactly? I made it difficult on purpose, you know."

“Nothing’s wrong, exactly.” Sam looked around them, taking in the lush greenery around them, the feeling of the wind on his skin. The sky was clear, the late evening sun warm and soothing, and it was enough that even with anxiety tugging low in his gut, Sam was able to appreciate the beauty of it all as he very firmly ignored the last question. "I just, well I've got something I need to pick your brain about. Y’know, as the fugitive hanging out in your country, and uhh. Maybe as something close to a friend?”

“You and I may not be the closest, Sam. But you’re far more than somebody I’ve offered asylum to. You’re a good man, and a good friend, no matter the circumstances that brought us together. I would have thought you would have figured that out, by now. I don't make the effort I have with you, to spend time with just anybody, you know. It makes you something special, on principle." The words helped ease a knot of tension in his chest, helped ease his mind enough for Sam to take a deep breath. “I'd hoped that at the very least, you'd open to that. Though it seems you may have left out a few details, when he saw each other last." His gaze moved past Sam, to Redwing, and Sam let himself hope the smile that touched his face was a good thing.

“Yeah. Yeah it’s a- It’s a damn long story, if we’re being honest. I’ll tell you it one day, if you want. But I’ve got a shorter one for you, if you don’t mind?”

“It’s something I think I can manage,” T’Challa moved away from Sam, gesturing for him to follow and they moved together, to settle at the edge of the cliff. Sam followed without a word of complaint, settling close enough to TChalla that he could talk easily to him, but angling himself so he could lean against the small tree that had once been growing there. The leaves of it were gone now, the branches bare, but it was sturdy, and gave Sam something to ground tactile to keep himself grounded. “What’s on your mind?”

Sam hesitated for a moment, taking a breath to steady himself in the moment once more, to think if there was a better way to get into this than just blurting it out. There wasn’t, he figured. Not enough to warrant driving himself mad over it. “Steve’s been doing some digging. Some talking, to old sources and old friends. He thinks it’s time for us to return home,” A quiet sound rose in T’Challa’s throat, a quiet indication that he could continue, so Sam pressed on. “Bucky well. From his reaction, I don’t think he’s planning to go, which doesn’t actually effect any of this, for me. I just think you might want to know that.” He paused for a moment, trying to center himself once more, to stop himself from devolving into the rambling he’d favored more than once. “I don’t know if I want to go home.”

“And is this to discuss why, or…?”

“No, no. I know why. There’s a lot of. Baggage, between me and back home. There’s a lot of things that have happened over the past year or two,” Sam grimaced at the memory, “Since before then, really. And some of this is just the icing on the cake. America has been my home for so long. For my entire life. But I- I can’t see myself going there, either. I can’t see myself making a life again. Or trusting them again.” Not that he had much before, either.

“And instead you were hoping to stay here?” Sam nodded once, wordless, unsure of how to defend himself. T'Challa didn't sound like he was opposed to the thought, at least. “May I ask you why?”

“It’s selfish,” Sam began quietly, “Because Wakanda is- Safe.I think that’s the start of it, at least. Nobody here wants to kill me.” And there was so much more to be said, about his problems with his home, the challenges he’d faced at every turn throughout his life, just because of who he was. And there would be problems anywhere, of course, but that was the start of it all, at least. “Because it’s peaceful here. Because you guys- Because _ you _ offered us more than a place to lie low. You offered us a way to build a life.” T’Challa stayed quiet, letting Sam collect himself. “And I won’t lie. I’m afraid of what’s waiting for me back home. As much as I love the people that I’ve left behind. As much as I miss my family. The past couple of days, all I’ve been able to think is that I, well. I don’t want to go home. Not like I should. I don't know that I belong there anymore, T"Challa.”

“You’re asking me if you can stay here?” It was a question, technically, but T’Challa’s voice was quiet and knowing, his dark eyes full of understanding. There were no expectations in gaze, but just patience, and a fondness that Sam couldn't make himself put words to.

“Only if you’ll let me. If you tell me no, well. I’ll deal with it.” Or he’d see if Natasha had any safe houses, or anything similar abroad, but the thought of going at it alone was an ominous thing. “But I’d- To say that I’d like it, is an understatement, you know? I feel more myself here, than I ever expected. And I don’t want to lose any of that, or give it up. And if I could stay here long enough, and give back in some way…I promise, T'Challa. I would find a way, no matter what-"

“You don’t have to earn your place here,” The interjection came quietly, drawing Sam from his thoughts. “Whatever comes of this, you need to know that. I told you when you first came, that as we became more open to outsiders in general, you could make yourself a part of the city however you chose to, which you've done over and over again.” It was T’Challa’s turn to fall quiet for a moment. “And, in the interest of full disclosure, you’re not the first to come to me with this kind of situation. James came to me shortly after he came out of cyrostasis. I imagine he still intends to stay here as long as he can. And you should know that you’re welcome to as well.”

Despite himself, despite his hopes that this would be how the conversation went and despite his knowledge that T’Challa was a good man, who’d proven over and over again to be as compassionate a leader as he was skilled a warrior, there was no denying the rush of relief that settled over Sam. T’Challa wouldn’t be forcing his hand, once he was no longer a fugitive. Sam could have a little more room to breathe, to figure out who he was now and what he wanted from the world. 

And he could have a little more time to figure out if what he truly wanted was to stay here. What a future in Wakanda would look like in the long term.

“Can I ask you a personal question, T’Challa?” He looked over as he spoke, watched the king nod, just once, even as he kept his gaze fixated on the horizon. “You told us before that you offered us help because we needed it. Because we all….” To define what had transpired between them in Europe as simple mistakes was underselling it greatly. “We all have things we needed to make amends for. But even ignoring all of this. You’ve gone above and beyond, you know that, right?”

A smile played on T”Challa’s features, small but fond, amusement clear in his gaze. “My council may have told me as much. Perhaps more than once.”

“And yet, here we are?”

“Here we are,” T’Challa agreed, “We have more than enough space for you three. And the plan, when all of this began was outreach and assistance, was it not? You may not be quite what we expected-”

“Well you know, I do my best. Gotta keep people on their toes, don’t I?” 

The laugh the words earned was a little shocked, and Sam let himself be a little bit smug about it. “Something tells me that you have no trouble with that, Sam.” He flashed the king an easy grin at that, fighting back his own laugh in turn. “Regardless. You might not be what any of us had in mind, when it came to opening our borders. But that doesn’t stop it from being a good thing. Or change that you can bring plenty of good things to my country, just by being here. I enjoy your presence here, and I know I'm not the only one. if you chose to leave, I would never stop you. But I might be a fool, to encourage it."

“You know, T’Challa, coming from most people that might come off a little like flattery.”

“And what if it’s well deserved? You had your reservations when you first came here, we all did. But I have eyes in the city, Sam. I’ve seen the time you've taken, to know my people here. To be a part of them and to join our communities, even with some reservations. I know what you’ve done in America. And I know what you’ve done here. I stand by what I said, Sam. What comes next might be something none of us have expected. That doesn’t need to be a bad thing, not as far as I’m concerned, at least.”

“Yeah?” Sam’s chest ached a little with an emotion he couldn’t quite name as it settled within him. The sun was beginning to set, turning everything golden, the light of it shining in T’Challa’s eyes and glinting off the necklaces and rings that he wore, making everything seem just a little softer around the edges and Sam's chest just a little warmer. “Well in that case, I’ll do what I can. To keep pushing the bar.”

“Life will never be boring around you, will it, Sam?” It wasn’t an accusation, but a statement of fact as the king leaned forward, bracing his elbows against his knees. “Between you and I, I’m rather looking forward to seeing what else you’re going to bring us. I may enjoy the anticipation more than king strictly should.”

“Well, in that case, I promise I won’t disappoint.” Sam agreed without a moment’s pause, “Though. I guess, if I’m going to be sticking around for a while, I should probably tell you the longer story.”

He gestured with one hand and Redwing flew over then, settling to land easily on the branch nearest to Sam's shoulder. He was just a little cheeky as he spread his wings and dipped low, the action comparable to a bow to the king, no matter his amusement as he regarded T'Challa. Sam had the briefest of feelings that he was passing a judgement of some sort, searching T'Challa's face like he expected him to be irrevocably thrown off by his presence, now that he was up close and very clearly not an average bird. _"Tell him I say hi_,_"_ He insisted of Sam as he straightened up, and Sam lifted a hand to brush his fingers against the soft feathers at his companions neck, the greeting instinctive and easy.

“T’Challa, this is Redwing. And well, I guess the best way to start, is to say that some things changed, when we came back, after everything. It turns out we’re a package deal, from here on out.” Redwing nipped at his finger, just enough to be felt without causing any real kind of pain. "And he says it's nice, to finally get to meet you."

* * *

“I’m going to miss you.”

Steve looked back as Sam spoke, away from the box he was unpacking, a small frown on his features despite the fondness of his words. They’d been at work for the better part of the afternoon, after a morning spent with Sam’s family, dancing around just where he would be staying, but making it clear as possible that he’d be safe. Sam knew he'd be able to tell them eventually, that T'Challa would have gladly let him tell them now, but he was nervous about it all the same, and desperately wanted to wait if he could.

And now they were unpacking everything Steve had once had in the Avenger’s compound, and everything he’d collected while he was in Wakanda and elsewhere. He’d had the option, even if Sam suspected it had been offered reluctantly, to return to the Avenger’s compound. But this was what Steve had wanted, when it came to returning home. A little place in Brooklyn, a place where he could just be Steve Rogers. He hadn’t given up the shield, but he’d tucked it against the wall, hidden out of sight instead of in a place of honor.

“You could stay, you know.” The offer came immediately, and Sam shook his head a little, even as Steve reached out to squeeze his arm gently. “There’s no reason you gotta miss me. There’d be room in here for two.”

“After all these years, you’d think you’d be sick of living with me.” Sam teased, certain of the decision that he’d made to leave this, and Steve behind, to stay with Wakanda. “Besides. I thought you were planning on turning that second room into a studio? An hour ago you couldn’t shut up about the lighting in there.”

“Yeah well,” He shrugged, “Might be worth giving it up a little for you.” Sam scoffed at the words and Steve held his hands up in self defense, obviously not planning on pushing it more.

Still, it was nice to know that they’d both miss each other like hell. They’d spent so long at each other’s sides, after all. They’d lived together for years, they’d found space for each other in almost every aspect of their lives.

It was bittersweet above all else, the knowledge they were both after peace, they were both going after what they wanted instead of clinging to what they knew. No matter how much it hurt to have to do it away from each other.

“I’ll miss you like hell,” Sam repeated instead of saying anything else. “But I promise. I’ll be a pain in your ass the entire time we're apart. I’ll text you plenty. We’ll talk whenever we can. You’ve got the computer Shuri messed with, so we’ll be on a whole other level for communication, compared to what we could be. Timezones don’t mean anything to me, you know.”

“Sam,” Steve’s grip lingered for a moment, before his hand dropped to his side. “None of that can compare to you, you know.” He paused, “And no matter how much trouble you are, I’m sure you won’t be that annoying.”

“You vastly underestimate my ability to be a pain in your ass.” Sam bumped their shoulders together, before he turned his attention to the box he’d been unpacking, working on unloading some of the books Steve had collected over the past few years, some old classics, and more modern pop culture books, a handful of which Sam himself had recommended to him. “Apartment’s going to be quiet, without you.”

“Yeah, for about three days until you start throwing wild parties without me there to drag you down.” Sam snorted a laugh at that, and Steve cracked a grin in return. “I mean it. You’ve got Buck, of course. And it’ll never be a dull moment with the two of you alone. But you’ve got friends there, Sam. You can’t go down the street, without running into someone you know. You just gotta let yourself let them in. Emotionally and into the apartment."

“When did you get so wise, huh? I thought I was supposed to be the smart one in this friendship. You can’t have the looks and the brains.”

“Yeah. Cause it definitely can’t work the other way with us.” Steve rolled his eyes at Sam, shoving at him playfully. “But I mean it. You know exactly what I mean.”

“We’ve both been holding on,” Sam agreed, looking around them, taking in the partially furnished apartment, the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the little touches of Steve everywhere. It was what they’d both thought, he suspected, what they’d danced around since long before the battle with Thanos. “Guess we’re both old enough we can start slowing down a little. Maybe one of us can figure out how to stay outta trouble.”

“I wouldn’t put my money on that one.” Steve disagreed, “But maybe we can cut down on it a little."

“You first.” 

“So we shouldn’t hold our breath, then.” Steve shrugged a little. “But I- Sam. You’ll look after Bucky, won’t you? He might be better than us about staying out of trouble, but-”

“He’s a grown man, Steve. He can take care of himself, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but he shouldn’t have to. And you shouldn’t have to. It’d make me feel better, knowing you’ve got each other. I made him promise, before I left that he'd keep an eye on you, too. That he wouldn't let you overwork yourself without me there.”

“I’m pretty sure that after Germany, that was a given. But don’t worry, Cap. I’ll make sure he doesn’t work himself too hard. Y’know. By making him come over so we can watch movies, and generally torture each other, a little bit. Or going to his place, so he can cook for me, once in a while.”

"Have I ever told you that you two are the strangest pair of friends that I've ever met?”

“It’s half the fun. And hell, you should be thanking me, I think. I’m gunna be the only one who can keep Redwing from giving his arm to the crows, or something, as a bribe.”

“Sam.”

“Steve.”

He held the other man’s gaze firmly, solid and unwavering, refusing to laugh despite the temptation. A smile tugged at his features though, and finally, Steve returned it in kind, eyes bright with warmth as he considered him, and finally, the other man nodded. “You’re lucky I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam held his gaze as he moved a little closer, for a moment struck by the feeling of longing. He couldn’t find it in him to regret the decision he’d made. If anything, being home only made it feel right, made him more certain of what he wanted. It was bittersweet, maybe, but the boost was one that he’d needed. “What do you think, Cap? Do you think you've figured it out?” The words earned him a raised brow, the question unspoken. “What makes you happy. Do you think you found it, yet?”

The question seemed to stop Steve for a moment, even the movement of his hands stilling completely. Maybe he hadn't expected Sam to ask, or maybe he'd forgotten all about the conversations that had first led to them becoming friends. “I’ve found some things, I think. Things that help. People that help. But I’m still figuring it out, I think. Stepping back, though. Clearing my head, it's all helped more than I expected. It feels like a start I never got, before.”

“You deserve it, Steve. I mean it, man, after everything it's about damn time that you sat down and actually put some thought into it.”

“You’re one to talk,” Steve’s voice was quiet, “It’s about time you be selfish, too. Retirement might be a good look on you, if you decide that it sticks.”

“We’ll see what happens. I told T’Challa that if he needs me, well. He’ll have eyes in the sky, as long as he wants them. And he told me he's more than willing to let me work with some of his people, even in peace time, once they get my wings fixed.” He trailed off, “But you should know, Steve. If you need anything at all, I’ve got your back. Even if I’m out of the game completely. There’s no better reason to get back in.”

“We’ll see what happens,” Steve parroted without missing a beat, “I don’t know if I’ll be at this forever, though, Sam. You might get a different kind of call, one day, if you’re not careful.”

“Yeah?” Sam's gaze followed Steve's to the shield leaning against the wall and back to his friend again, shaking his head a little. If Steve wouldn't say it, Sam wouldn't push, at least for now. That was another conversation for another day, long in the future, when Sam could conceptualize it better than this. “Well you know, Steve. I’ve told you before. Whenever you call, I’ll answer. No matter the situation. No matter where we are. I’ll always have your back.”

“And I’ll have yours.” Steve answered in turn, his gaze as warm and unwavering as ever. “Whatever happens next. Some things will never change.”


	3. Chapter 3

“So, rumor has it you wanted to see me?” Sam moved into Shuri’s lab as he spoke, warning Redwing with an almost dismissive thought to be careful where he landed. He had no idea what half of the clutter here was, but he'd seen enough of disasters from projects that Rhodes worked on not to trust any of it. Shuri was at one of the stations, working on something that Sam didn’t quite know that could make sense of, bits of metal and fabric coming together to form something not yet recognizable. “They didn’t tell me if I should be worried or not.”

“If there was reason to be worried I would have-” Shuri broke off as she looked at Sam, and at Redwing who’d perched on his shoulder, a little awkwardly but decidedly the safest place for him to be. “What is that?”

Redwing bristled at being called a 'what' and Sam lifted a hand to smooth over his feathers affectionately, silently reminding him Shuri had no idea he was sentient. “This is Redwing, he’s a uhh- Well, he’s a friend of mine.”

“Why do you have a hawk? Have you always had a hawk?”

“It’s a long story, I’m kinda shocked T’Challa didn’t mention it to you actually, after I dropped that bomb on him. Let’s just say when we came back well, some things got a little mixed up, is all.” He paused for a beat, “And he’s not a- Are you a hawk? Have I been calling you a falcon, and you’re really a hawk?”

_ “One month ago, I was an actual robot, Sam. I know nothing. I’m entirely innocent here. Ask your blue friend.” _

“She’s not really my friend, man, I’ve hardly spoken to her, and that’s _ after _ she saved our lives.” Sam paused, turning to Shuri. “You’re sure he’s a hawk?”

“That’s really what we’re focusing on right now?” She prompted, “Of all the things in the world? But yes, he’s a hawk. I'll give you a course in bird identification later, though really, you should have done that earlier.”

_ “Well, I’m not changing my name.” _Sam informed Redwing, though he made himself focus on Shuri now, who was looking at him with amusement, and who looked like she thought Redwing might just be the next big thing that she solved. “But I’m sorry, Shuri. Why did you want to see us?”

“Well, I’d thought that I had a good surprise for you. I see now somebody should have told me that there were adjustments I needed to make to it. Not to worry, I can fix it.” She clapped her hands together, and gestured for Sam to follow her deeper into the lab with Redwing. "_Perhaps_ I should have asked you about this first. Run this by you. But you’re staying in Wakanda, T’Challa told me.”

“T’Challa told-” Sam broke off, shook his head to clear his head, because that wasn’t nearly as important as what Shuri was pulling out onto her table. There were goggles and what looked like a wingpack on the table, the metal of it sleeker than his last, significantly more lightweight, the metal shiny and new but as familiar as ever. He was reaching for it before the action registered, stopping mere moments before he could actually touch it. “Shuri, what is this?”

“You’re staying, and my brother said that you want to do more for our people. That you like what you have so far, but you missing being a part of something more.” She paused for a moment, considering Sam and Redwing carefully, “He may have mentioned that you miss flying too, and that your wings have been broken since the battle. I figured we could consider this a way to kill two birds with one stone.”

_ “Is that an insult? Do you think we should be worried?” _

_ “That’s your question? T’Challa talked to her about me? He didn't mention the talking hawk, but he mentioned me missing flying?_

_ “That’s _ your _ question? Focus, Sam.” _

Sam huffed at his companion, shook his head and made himself focus on Shuri, who was watching him with a raised brow and and an expectant look on her features. “I’m sorry. He’s- Well, he's distracting, sometimes.” Sam ducked his head a little, hesitantly letting his fingers touch the smooth metal of it, warm to the touch and familiar, despite the fact he’d never seen it before. “We bicker, sometimes. But this in mine? This is a- These are wings? You built me wings, instead of just fixing the old ones?”

“You’re telepathic?” There was a light in Shuri’s eyes, a scientist’s look, that said they weren’t even close to done with this conversation. “But yes, these are wings, I don't touch another's work, unless it's T'Challa nobody else can compete. Put these on, first.” She held out the goggles and Sam took them, let them settle and tried hard not to startle as they shifted on his face until they fit perfectly. Anxiety settled in him as he stared at the wings then, wanting them, aching with the potential the wingpack held, but terrified despite himself. “And now the wings.”

If his hands shook a little as he picked up the pack, then Sam would never admit to it. It settled over his back, and tried to register just how lightweight it was, how it felt like he was hardly wearing anything at all, like he could forget about them completely. Shuri lifted her hands, one of her kimoyo beads glowing faintly before she dropped her hand.

“How do I work them?”

“The same way you always have. I improved the design, made it more efficient, more effective. But I wanted to be sure there were no- issues, midair. I didn’t change the deployment mechanisms or how you control them. My brother and I like you enough that I’d rather not see you crash and burn. And it’d be quite the failure for my design.”

“Yeah, that’s all it is, huh?” Sam flashed Shuri a small smile, “Well, I’ll make sure nothing goes wrong.” He paused, focused and in that moment the pack shifted, molding to his back to create a harness of sorts, instead of just the jetpack. Seconds later, the wings expanded, and Sam twisted to examine them, no longer made of the metal, but of a vibrant red-orange light had formed into the wings instead “And what, exactly is your design? This is a little different than I was expecting. Not that I'm complaining.”

“Your old design was- acceptable, but inefficient. The best that Tony could have done, I’m sure. The harness itself is vibranium microweave, that I intend to expand into a full suit, once I'm fully satisfied with the wings for the time being. You can control them with the same muscle movements you used for the other ones. But with these, there won’t be nearly as much able to take you out of the sky. A benefit, if you’re going to be out there patrolling with our people, if we’re leaving you vulnerable.”

“He mentioned that too?”

“No, but from what I’ve seen of you, there’s no way in the world that you wouldn’t want to do something.” Shuri shrugged, pulling out a datapad, tapping at a few things on the screen as she walked in a circle around Sam. “The goggles have the same capabilities of your old ones, of course. If they’re sharper than the old well….”

“Then you’re sure it was the best Tony could have done?” It was T’Challa’s voice who cut in, and Sam turned at it, to see him leaning against the doorway of the lab, watching Sam where he stood. “You’re getting predictable, Shuri.”

Shuri raised her middle finger at her brother without sparing him a glance at all, “It _ also _ has full range remote imaging sensors, and unlimited range on transmitting and receiving, so wherever you go we will be able to reach you."

“Oh, is that all?” 

“Behave, or I won’t explain how I’ve programmed it to jam satellite and GPS tracking other than our own."

“Your sister plays one hell of a hard game, you know.” Sam crossed his arms across his chest as T’Challa approached, offering him a half bow as the wings settled back into the pack. It was a disorienting feeling, the difference being that the wings weighed next nothing, that the harness that had formed across his back to support them retreated into the pack the minute he wanted them to. In a matter of seconds, Sam was taking them off, and he looked down at them silently, more overwhelmed than he wanted to admit and hardly able to keep his voice steady. “Thank you.”

“You can thank me by using them well,” Shuri told him without missing a beat, “And by taking them with the full knowledge that I’ll be scanning your biometrics every time you’re out there. This is just the first model, there are many, many improvements that I intend to make on them.”

“As long as they get me in the air, and keep me there, I’m not going to complain,” Sam promised, which, judging by the look Shuri gave him, was for some reason_ not _the response that she wanted. “What?”

“Are all men the same? Honestly.”

“Shuri.”

“What’d I say? You’re not going to take the wings away from me, right?”

“Of course not. I just expected better of you. Of course you'd have to be just like him.” She shot T’Challa a look, then and for a moment Sam’s chest ached, because he knew what it was, when just a look could be used to carry on a conversation. He couldn’t place what was exchanged between the two of them, but whatever it was had T’Challa ducking his head after a moment, looking from his sister, over to Sam.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in trying them out? I might enjoy seeing you in action, when lives aren’t in danger. And then Shuri can have her first sample of data in a controlled environment, so there will be less variables to fuss over.”

“Please do, if it gets you out of my lab, brother.” Shuri rolled her eyes Sam moved closer to T’Challa without another word at the offer, unable to deny that just the thought of being airborne again had anticipation thrumming through him. It had been too long, and Sam, who’d found his second home in the sky, missed it more than he could say. “I should warn you now, I’ll expect plenty of feedback from you, too. Not just the data. I need to know about any lags or delays, any unexpected responses or times, and I need to know immediately."

“I think I can manage that,” He promised, looking over to T’Challa who was watching him, almost expectantly, dark eyes on Sam’s face even as they moved away. “You really wanna see me fly?” The thought of it, of showing off for somebody was always a little nerve wracking. It was just worse, because it was T'Challa, whose opinion he respected and whose sister had designed them. And it was T'Challa, who was still watching him, his expression so soft it was entirely unfair.

“I’ll admit, I’ve been interested enough in them, since the initial,” A pause, like T’Challa was in the same boat as Sam, still struggling years later to put to words exactly what the mess they’d gotten into in Germany had been. “Situation, where we saw each other. They’re unexpected, considering American design. And Tony Stark’s fondness for machines so heavy it's a wonder they can get in the air at all.

“Well, they weren’t exactly meant to get into combat situations,” Sam offered, “More to get people _ out _ of them. Weapons, more armor. That’s something we had to improvise as we went. Those are the only changes I let Tony make. The original wings were destroyed but they were… Important to me, you know?”

“And the ones that Shuri made?”

“We’ll see how I feel when I’m in the air. But I don’t mind them. She said she didn’t mess with how they worked, which I guess is the important part. If it came down to it, I could use them for what they were meant for, and that matters too. But I think it might be time for it. Everything’s changing, and that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.” Despite himself, despite the openness of the conversation, Sam found he couldn’t quite look at T’Challa. But Redwing, it seemed, had no problems at all with letting Sam know that T’Challa wasn’t looking away from him, either. That there was a slight tremor to one of his hands in the moment before he reached out to touch Sam's wrist, his touch feather light and warm, soothing. “She used what they were to make something better. That’s how it’s supposed to be, right?”

“Thinking about things that way makes you wise, if you ask me.”

“Well, you know, that’s the goal. Gotta hope that something sticks, right?”

“From what I’ve seen, more than a few things have stuck.” T’Challa’s shoulder bumped against his own, an easy touch inviting Sam to look at him now, his gaze intense and the look in his eyes enough to keep him focused on him. “And I wouldn’t mind hearing more about their past purpose. Or your past, if you were ever interested in sharing.”

_ “Which you are.” _

_ “Nobody’s asking you.” _Sam didn’t look at Redwing, didn’t let his gaze drift from T’Challa, and the truth was his focus didn’t waver for more than a moment. Because Redwing was right, but that didn’t stop the words from sticking in Sam’s throat. “I don’t talk about it much. I can’t pretend it was always great, you should know that. I've got an awful lot of baggage."

“Then we’re in the same boat. Trust me, I can sympathize more than you know.”

“Yeah?” He ran a hand over his face, before flashing T’Challa a small smile. “In that case, I’ll trade you a story for a story. See where it takes us. But I’ve got a condition, if you wanna get me talking.” The words earned him a small smile, a raised brow and Sam made himself push on despite the way fear tried to shove them back down. “We talk over dinner. Maybe drinks, if we decide we need them.”

It was T’Challa’s turn to pause, the slightest hesitation in his steps the only sign of it, his brows drawing together in surprise. “Dinner and drinks?” He repeated quietly, “And would I be lucky enough to get you alone?”

“If you’re lucky enough? Careful, T’Challa. That sounds a little like flattery. Might give a guy ideas. Like that if I played my cards right this could be a date.” There, he'd said it. He'd put to words what he'd wondered on early morning runs together, and the time that they'd spent talking.

“And if I told you you’ve been playing your cards right this entire time? To say that I've been trying to flatter you, might just be an understatement. I'm just- Not always the best at this, I'm afraid."

_ “Do I have to say I told you so?” _

“Well, then I’d say it’s a date.” Carefully ignoring Redwing and the way he was aware of his pulse picking up, nerves settling in his chest, Sam nudged T’Challa back and let their hands brush, taking it carefully. “Might actually make me look forward to flying a little less, though. Knowing what comes after.”

“Well I’m afraid you’re not getting out of that, because I do want to see it. And because we’ll never hear the end of it from Shuri. But I’m sure we’ll think of some way, to make it worth the wait.”

“If that's how it is, I’m looking forward to seeing just what you’ve got up your sleeve, T’Challa. Sounds to me like we’ve got a promising kind of night, ahead of us. We can do this tonight, right? Might not be the most traditional, but I don’t want to wait, either.”

“I think I can manage that. For you. I can't pretend that I want to wait, either. There's no reason we can't make an exception to the rules."

"For me," Sam repeated, and he was proud of himself that his voice didn't shake, didn't give away the shock that this was actually happening. Instead, he just squeezed T'Challa's hand, trying desperately to commit his small smile and the fact that he was the cause of it to memory. "Well in that case, your highness. I promise I'll make it more than worth the wait."

* * *

_“What do you think, Red? How’s it looking?”_

_ “You’ve got eyes, don’t you? You know just how it’s going. Better than me, probably.” _

The words were truer than Sam had any right to admit as he cut through the air, his pace on the wings lazy and easy as he flew, Redwing was nearby, close enough that Sam could see him as they coasted on the breeze, and for a moment Sam let himself tap into the other birds around them, the input disorienting as it always was, trusting Redwing to watch his back and help keep him grounded as he scanned the perimeter of the border that they were patrolling.

_ “We’re clear _ ,” Sam confirmed, tilting his head to look up at Redwing as they flew, the wings responding to the slightest thought and shift of his muscles, as Sam tilted his head up to savor the feeling of the sun on his face and the wind against his skin. _ “We’re golden, man _.”

And the truth was, that he really was. Beneath him were the Wakandan plains, beautiful and lush, peaceful in ways that Sam still couldn’t believe some days. He’d called so many places home over the years, and had found his place in all of them but none of them had been like this. No matter how well his life before had gone, he’d never been this free.

It helped that he was allowed to fly like this. That he was encouraged to, even on the times that he wasn’t on patrol with the Border Tribe who were, for the most part, tolerating his presence and letting him contribute what he could. It helped that he could still have his freedom, that the wings weren’t just weapons anymore, they weren’t just meant for battle and work, and that Sam could chase this feeling for as long as he wanted to.

They were a comfort, with the people who didn’t quite trust him yet, but who were letting him prove himself. And Sam had absolutely no problems with letting the security they gave him, and Redwing’s constant presence help keep him steady and grounded, as he worked to make himself a part of Wakanda. It was a slow process, but Sam had more friends here than he’d ever expected to.

And he just kept making more. It wasn’t just Bucky hanging out with him and Redwing now, it wasn’t just Skyping with Steve, three nights a week. There were the people he knew from work, the few members of the Border Tribe who’d warmed up to him already, members of the River tribe he’d met while he’d been visiting Bucky. There were members of the palace staff now who he could count as acquaintances, at the least, members of a book club he'd joined, and a few of the regulars at his favorite diner.

There was T’Challa. Who’d invited him to dinner in his rooms for what he could only call their first real date. Who still met him some mornings to run before dawn, but much more frequently would wait to have his breakfast until Sam finished his run alone and they could enjoy it in the palace together. Who hadn’t batted an eye at Sam’s history, both personal and military, who'd taken his transition beautifully in stride, and had opened himself up in turn.

Maybe it had been a struggle to get here. To find his niche in Wakanda, and to adjust to Redwing’s presence in his life, least of all his newfound abilities. A thousand things had changed. So many were still happening, nothing was as static as they’d once been. But Sam had found his place in it, he’d embraced it. He had the good from before, he had Steve and Bucky and Natasha, and his civilian friends from America. He had his family, who he talked to more and more freely now, who’d visited him, something he’d never thought was possible before. He'd gotten to show Sarah and Gideon and their children the place he called home now, he'd gotten to share the smallest part of his life with them openly, and knew they all felt better about Sam's move,because of it.

Because he’d done it. He hadn’t just managed to build a life here-- Sam Wilson was thriving now. He felt better than he could ever remember, more himself than since he’d joined the Avengers, since they’d taken down Hydra for the first time, since he’d left the Air Force and lost Riley. Maybe it was because it’d been a true fresh start, with no context to define his life before, with nobody who knew who he'd been, before everything else. Or maybe Sam had just been meant to come here, to find his place here, and this was just the universe rewarding him for it.

_ “Have you ever considered writing poetry?” _

_ “Have you ever considered leaving me to my thoughts?” _

_ “If I did you’d never stop _ . _ ” _ Redwing shifted on the breeze, careening towards him until he was flying just a few feet away, _ “Think too much and you’ll start to go gray _.”

_ “Well hey, then we’ll match _ .” Sam grinned at his own joke and even Redwing was laughing with him, twisting through the air. _ “I could pull it off, you know. I’d look very dignified.” _

_ “Don’t kid yourself.” _Had they not been so far in the air Sam would have thrown something at him, or maybe just knocked his companion out of the air. 

_ “Sometimes I wonder why I love you, you know.” _

_ “Because I tell you when you’re being ridiculous, or making yourself look it. And because I make an excellent wingman. You’d be lost without me.” _

_ “Debatable.” _ His smile was enough to take away the bite of his words as Sam let himself make a slow banking turn back towards the city, trusting Redwing to stay with him without having to much think his intent at him. _ “But I guess there’s a few perks to you being around. You make me look good.” _

_ “And you make it so hard on me.” _

The words were teasing, relaxed and Sam found himself laughing outright, twisting through the air just because he could. _ “I’ll make you a deal, Red. You beat me back, and I’ll do my best not to make it hard on you for the next day or so _.”

_ “Which means a whole lot, when you’re spending the night with T’Challa, I’m sure.” _ Sam felt heat rush to his cheeks at the knowing words despite the fact that it was just the two of them. “ _ But I’ll hold you to it. Let’s see what you’re made of, Sam.” _

And with that, Redwing took off across the sky, and Sam took a moment to just appreciate the sight of his companion cutting through the air, the sun at his back and warm on his skin, the whole of the country beneath them, completely peaceful and untouched. He breathed in slowly, let himself take it all in, and commit it to memory, never wanting to lose this moment or the feeling that settled in his chest.

Then he was off, chasing after Redwing with an easy laugh. It had taken him a lifetime to get here, but Sam had just as long to enjoy it here. And for the first time in a long time, the future wasn’t just bright. It wasn't just peaceful. It was unlimited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking it out with my fic. As always feedback is always appreciated (or feel free to just come yell at me about Sam on my tumblr over [here](http://tchalcons.tumblr.com))


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